


So, this is Christmas, and I'm fucking cold

by KeiserFranz



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, bc john doesn't think and then thinks too much, he is also a lil brat in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeiserFranz/pseuds/KeiserFranz
Summary: The first pre-Christmas holiday of Paul, John and Martha.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	So, this is Christmas, and I'm fucking cold

The sun shone bright, covering the lumps of snow with creamy sparkles. The bare branches of trees didn't resemble skeletons, for once, rather majestic guardians of the untouched beauty. Acres of white blankets stretched wherever one casted their gaze, a few crows and ravens interrupting the silence with their croaks and caws. 

It was nature in its most celestial attire.

Or...

"Paul?" John whined, eyes narrowing at the snow cracking under the weight of his steps. "Baby, are we going back already?" 

His companion, a tall man under less arctic conditions, now just a clod of warm garments on two legs, halted his movements to direct a piercing gaze at his boyfriend, an obligatory hand on the hip accentuating his stance on the matter.

"It's been 5 minutes, John. 5 minutes since we exited the living room. 5 minutes is not something I'd label as a walk. Especially not for a dog like Martha."

John eyed the four-legged monster in questions, running back and forth like the contents of Pandora's box. His upper lip quivered upon spotting four tiny shoes fastened to each of her limbs. A result of Paul discussing their vacation with Linda, their only friend whose obsession with dogs made Paul appear like a cat person. "At least Paul didn't adopt a husky", John breathed in relief, images of Paul operating a team of furry beasts to try dogs sledding dancing in front of his eyes. Yet they say cat people are bonkers.

"It's cold," he reasoned grumpily, observing the nearby group of suspicious birds. Watching every horror with the winter atmosphere before their departure didn't seem as amusing as it did in the comfort of their London living room. 

"Well," Paul retorted as he focused on throwing a branch Martha found earlier to the distance. "You shouldn't have joined us then, it's winter after all."

"It's disgusting."

"Martha likes it." 

The slobbering ball reappeared, reaching its owner(s) -- John liked to consider himself a victim of dog's manipulation -- with giant leaps before tackling Paul to the ground. 

With a sigh, John fished up his phone, wiggling out of the first layer of gloves to record squeaking Paul. He hoped George and Linda would appreciate the effort, both of them for different reasons. It dawned on him.

"SHE HAS A FUR," he exclaimed, raising his pointer finger like a little kid to say 'she started it' then gasped dramatically before yelling from the top of his lungs: "You-YOU HAVE A FUR" 

"John," Paul growled, his Lennon-is-up-to-no-good sense pricking. 

"I'M DATING YETI WITH A MOUNTAIN GOAT AS HIS PET, oh my god, I'VE BEEN LIED TO, MY ENTIRE LIFE HAS BEEN AN ILLUSION."

Face red like a tomato sauce, Paul struggled to stand up, scanning their surroundings as if a lone fox longed to make a fortune by selling the story of the cute Beatle's hairy legs. 

"Shhhh," he chided loudly, alarming folks in villages far far away. The lack of subtlety breaking John into a cackling fit.

"You literally have a thermoset on you with a coat designed for explorers. 's not like we are following Amundsen's path here in Scotland, you know, not with your complaining about everything. Tho, I think me and Martha would make a great team for a polar expeda-Ah-LENNON!!!"

Afraid Paul would say something about dog sledding, John stepped out of his comfort zone and made a little snowball, then aimed for his boyfriend's face.

And so it happened that those two adults, the most influential writing duo in Britain, spent the following hour chasing each other, whooping and laughing like madmen.

When they returned to their cottage -- damp; flushed and giggly -- they were welcomed by a bored Martha meticulously cleaning her paws and staring at them with silent disbelief. "Humans, humans, where did you abandon your dignity?" Her brown eyes seemed to ask. 

Until Paul greeted her in a very, very high-pitched voice, causing her to remember she hadn't seen them for AGES.

John wondered whether Martha would be as kind as to share the secret of her endless vitality. He could definitely use some.

\------

The sodding winter gained a certain charm when observed from inside, John mused. Enjoying the hot cocoa he had prepared. Paul, ever the buzzing element, finished his portion a while ago and could be found in the kitchen, frantically flipping through his recipes to find the perfect soup for dinner.

A pleasantly dimmed light veiled the living room, accentuating the beauty of the frozen nature. 

Almost idyllic if it wasn't for Martha chewing loudly on her neon green, monstrous bone. 

John absent-mindedly snuggled closer to the chunky sweater Paul had insisted he would wear. It smelled like him, like home, and John melted inside at the idea he was special to somebody, worth the fussing and dotting despite his mood swings. Especially someone like Paul. 

Guilt pinched John's cheek, urging him to get up and linger awkwardly at the kitchen's door frame. Paul didn't notice him, too busy with humming a make-up tune and stirring the contents of the pot. 

John rolled his eyes fondly, having a vague feeling _somebody_ would come with at least 2 new songs by the end of their stay. He carefully tiptoed to the oblivious man and hugged him from behind, laughing at the little gasp of shock Paul emitted before relaxing in John's hold.

They stayed like that for a while, creating their own personal bubble of closeness. John kissed Paul's neck, enjoying how his boyfriend smelled after a shower -- pines, grapefruits and lavender. He repeated the action till Paul giggled and squirmed slightly, trying to ease the ticklish sensation.

"Joohn," he dragged out, the rhythm of his stirring hand faltering as John kissed the sensitive spot behind his ear. "...the soup!"

John welcomed the mention of their food like a pleasant distraction from the next step. Which was an apology. A proper one, like. Something that a grown-up should be capable of. 

They ate in comfortable silence, the kind that didn't smell like starched collars. John's brain cells were running in the rhythm of the rattling spoon, desperate to come with an opening line, something witty yet meaningful, and not dipped in too much pathos. 

John pondered, and pondered some more, feeling like he was slipping. A croak of a chair pushed back interrupted the chaos as he realised Paul ate up and was about to retreat the cutlery. The perfect moment...

"Uh?"

Paul blinked confused at the hand grasping his wrist, preventing him from any movement. Then he gazed at his boyfriend who, too, appeared to be shocked as if his fingers didn't discuss their plan with his brain. 

"I-," John trailed off, easing the hold. "-I wasn't that cold back there."

"Oh," Paul slowly sat back, depositing his plate back on the table, as he caressed John's hand with his thumb. "I know."

John nodded, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from his cheeks. "And I liked the walk, really. Well, getting Martha into those shoes was hell, but...I enjoyed it." 

Paul's lips quirked up at that, interlacing their fingers. "I know, me, ehm, I enjoyed it too.

"And I'm sorry if it looked like I was mad or not appreciating that you took me here. Because I am, it's our first holiday, and I'm glad you asked me, I-I just not I'm not really good at emotions."

Granted, he stumbled over his words, rushed to finish the apology without taking a break so the words melted together like it was French and not English, but it was an apology. He even uttered those frightening words, but when Paul hadn't said anything, John's confidence wavered.

"Was that, Idon'tknow, okay?" 

Without a reply, Paul brought John's hand to his lips, pecking it briefly, before leaping up and engulfing him in a hug. 

"I love you, I really, really do," he mumbled into the auburn waves. The words making John's skin tingle most delightfully.

  
\---

Unfortunately, conquering one's worries doesn't change their habits, John learnt as he stumbled out of their bedroom at 9 am. **Everything** awfully bright and sparkly for his taste.

He placed a sloppy imitation of a kiss on Paul's shoulder, not scooping enough strength to locate his mouth, then landed on the chair, patting Martha's head that appeared on his lap.

Soothing his morning sourness, John gulped his morning coffee from the diy mug, covered in tiny illustrations of cats. Not even the divine drink couldn't prevent him from analysing Paul's cheerful mood. His ego reasoned it was probably an aftermath of John's apology, but the psychic inside him sensed something WAS up. 

Paul whistled a song from Sinatra, the one John couldn't quite place, as he flipped another pancake. Grinning victoriously when it returned to the pan and not the floor. He skillfully wrapped them, adding whipped cream and chocolate on John's portion. Sugar always made him less cranky.

John chewed on the treat, feeling his grumpiness melting. His brain reacted immediately, producing a list of enquiries. 

"Did you finish your song or something?" He asked, curious to explore the reason behind Paul's sunny attitude. He received a shrug and a giggle. 

"What's happening then?"

Nothing. Not even the usual 'John, I can't tell you, it is a surprise.' For a moment he wondered whether Paul didn't smuggle in pot despite their agreement not to do so. John sniffed, discreetly, the clogs in his head beginning to tick. 

Adopting a new strategy (also known as patience), he slowly finished the brekky and waited for Paul to betray his secretive behaviour. 

And, after 5 giggling fits and 3873 bright grins, Paul whipped a white envelope from his pocket. A triumphant sparkle in his eyes as he placed it right in front of John, then dashed away.

Martha started to slobber, focused on the last piece of John's breakfast. He complied, sharing his food with the ever-hungry dog, then carefully torn off the envelope. 

"PAUL!! PAUL, YOU, YOU DIDN'T!" 

  
A loud shriek shattered the walls of the small cottage before even louder steps echoed through the hall. A man followed by a huge animal, both bouncing excitedly on their feet, entered the bedroom. 

John was clutching the contents of the envelope in his hand, immediately wrapping himself around Paul's torso.

"I can't believe you just booked us a holiday in Belize. Caribbean sea and all that shit. I don't deserve you, FUCKING SHIT, I love you."

He smacked a kiss to every part of Paul he could reach, gibbering away with the enthusiasm even Martha couldn't muster. 

"What about Brian, the studio, the boys?" He asked once the excitement turned down a notch. 

"'s all set and negotiated. Everybody could use a month of free time, so, that's that. Besides, George wanted to record some solo work, I figured out I didn't have to supervise him all the time."

Paul chuckled when John wordlessly tightened his hold, sounds of crashing waves just 20 days away. With one last kiss he released his awesome (AMAZING, ABSOLUTELY GORGEOUS, OTHERWORLDLY) boyfriend and looked at Martha.

"Say, how about a nice long winter walk?"

**Author's Note:**

> if [this](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/11/45/e1/1145e13a29975024139e7064cacd3cec.jpg) ain't Martha in her winter attire, I'm eating a cucumber
> 
> also, not to sound obnoxious, but HAVE SNOW guySsSs!!!!! like it's all white!!! like, last year it didn't snow at all and NOW IT'S ALL FUCKING WHITE, so, yeah, that's the story behind this rubbish


End file.
